Lord Nigel Trickelbush:
I want the world to know about the love in my heart.

Seated on a comfortable brown leather chair, Nigel is introspective in voice and in posture. He speaks to an unseen interviewer, off-screen. Put simply, Trickelbush looks terrible; sleep-deprived and greasy. His usually well-pressed suit seems wrinkled, ruffled, and worn.

Lord Nigel Trickelbush:
My heart is so big. Vast, even. As deep as an ocean. 

Waxing poetic, Nigel seems to eye a mote of dust casually drifting through the air before him.

Lord Nigel Trickelbush:
Yet… oceans are dark as well. 

His grey eyes somehow find the lens for a moment, before returning to his counterpart.

Lord Nigel Trickelbush:
Oceans hide dangerous things. Things not meant for the light. 

Dabbing a dry eye with a drier bleached white handkerchief, Nigel uncrosses then recrosses his legs.

Lord Nigel Trickelbush:
Pain is powerful, isn’t it? It bites, it stings, and it lingers. It stays. 

Shifting his weight, the leather squeaks in protest.

Lord Nigel Trickelbush:
Well… I can assure you that I’m not going anywhere either. Lo, though my heart might be broken… never doubt that the love remains. And as powerful, as lasting, as pain might be… what, I ask you, is more powerful, more lasting, more vital than the power of love?

The camera slowly peels back. Seated huddled in a ball at the foot of the leather chair is Corvo Alpha. Arms clutching his knees, his dark, damp hair falls all everywhere. Nigel rests a hand on Corvo’s tense shoulder.

Lord Nigel Trickelbush:
We have been maligned, yes. Shunned. Overlooked. Betrayed. Haven’t we?

Alpha doesn’t seem to indicate any discernible response.

Lord Nigel Trickelbush:
Mmm.

Nigel’s eyes narrow.

Lord Nigel Trickelbush:
Yes. Yes, we will. 

They brighten, lighten.

Lord Nigel Trickelbush:
We will, indeed.

Focusing back on our unseen confessor, Nigel sets back in his chair, hands forming a steeple over his lap.

Lord Nigel Trickelbush:
I wonder… in my shoes, how you’d comport yourself? Oh, I’ve made mistakes, that much is true. But my ends always justify those means. In the end, it’s about love. Isn’t it?

He seems to ask his phantom interviewer. Then, glancing downward at Corvo.

Lord Nigel Trickelbush:
Isn’t it?

Nothing.

Lord Nigel Trickelbush:
Yes. Love.

Nigel places a hand back on Corvo’s shoulder.

Lord Nigel Trickelbush:
Love persists. Always love.

A thin smile creeps across his face as we slowly fade out. 

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